


In Memoriam

by imsfire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Luke feels terrible guilt, Luke needs a hug, Self-Loathing, Shame, also a good shaking, my headcanon for how Leia's sudden death could/should be handled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: All through those years of self-imposed exile, he always believed his sister would still be there to help him when he finally felt ready to come back.  Never thought that he would have to go on without her.





	

After all the ceremonial grandeur of the funeral and the loud outpourings of public grief; after the weeks of devastated faces, the conversations that suddenly hush when he comes near; after the clumsy, kindly messages of condolence, and the tributes, both cautious and grandstanding, on the nightly Holo-news; it seems almost more unnatural to be standing, finally, at her grave. 

Leia would have laughed so hard, and then so bitterly, at the show that has been made of her death.

The tomb is simple. He knows she would have wanted that, and it pleases him that others besides him must have thought the same, despite all the flowers and noise, the past few weeks. There’s even space on the headstone for other names to be added, in the traditional way, above and below. For all there’s almost no-one who can be laid to rest beside her; neither her parents, blood and adoptive alike, nor her murdered husband will ever share this place, and there’s precious little chance Ben will be buried here either. 

He himself is the only member of her family likely to join Leia here. One day. Maybe soon. 

Leia Organa Solo  
Princess of Alderaan, Senator and General  
Beloved daughter, sister, wife and mother  
and  
Dearly loved friend  
She was an inspiration and an example  
Respected as a Leader throughout the Galaxy  
Taken from among us too soon  
The Force was with her  
and now  
She is one with the Force

Luke Skywalker bows his head and tries to believe she was indeed an example to everyone around her, and not what she suspected, a pain in the butt and a kind of embarrassment. But he remembers her saying wearily only a few weeks past, that no-one had taken her seriously every time she tried to warn them, for the last ten years. 

He tries to convince himself that everything she did, everything she worked for and suffered for, will go on without her. That the victory she lived for can still be accomplished.

He tries; and fails. 

Somehow, somewhere, he has to find hope again. Now that he has to go on, without Leia.

He remembers her expression, the last few times they talked; the mixture of bitterness and wry acceptance, the quiet strength, the kindness in her voice. She’d had more right than anyone to blame him and condemn, yet she’d held back her anger, had let it go and welcomed him; had seen that the good he could still do mattered more than any personal failure of his, any weakness or betrayal. From the day he came back, she had helped him to do whatever he could, and refused to allow him any further reason for self-loathing.

The strength in her, to do something so selfless, and barely acknowledge it as anything beyond necessity. The determination that held fast and never gave up, that had always held on to hope and the promise of freedom. The willpower that had stood up to everything the universe brought down upon her head; the will that was never broken, the chalice of hope filled with her boundless courage. That was Leia. He never deserved such a sister.

They had so little time. It’s stupefying to think of all the years when Leia was already a beloved daughter and leader and friend, and he didn’t even know she existed. 

Shaming, to think of these last ten years when he’s sat hiding, hating himself, while she went on labouring with all her heart to put right his mistakes. 

With all her brave, wounded heart. She used to joke her heart would never fail her, because it believed too much in the truth of her cause. But it has failed her now, because in the end it was just flesh and blood; it was a muscle, not a metaphor. 

He remembers a string of little moments: Leia laughing, playing with little Ben twenty years ago; shouting at Han in mock-rage over some childish prank of his; dancing, utterly drunk and with all her hair down, round a bonfire on Endor, all those years ago, while fireworks bloomed and burst into full leaf overhead.

He remembers her proud and beautiful, embarrassingly beautiful, this petite, elegant, furious woman with her dark-amber eyes and Alderaan braids piled high. Remembers everyone they met, on the flagship, at every base, cutting their eyes at her, and then looking at him and Han, wondering so obviously which of them was going to be the one who made a pass and got ripped to pieces first. 

He remembers her crying, quietly, alone in her cabin next door to his, long nights of tears in the months after they first met. She never spoke of her home, showed him nothing but loving concern for the people he’d lost; he’d happily accepted her sympathy and support, and been eaten up with shame, after, when he realised. She supported him because she knew with an intimate agony exactly what loss felt like; but she never showcased it, and her pain was the more private for its depth. 

He was ashamed then and is still. Doubly so, now, because ashamed too late. He can never apologise now, for all the times he’s taken her steadfastness for granted, all the times he’s wallowed in his own grief and accepted that she would cope with hers, and still have room to care for him.

He wishes he could raise his head now and see her Force-ghost standing silver and serene at his shoulder, and know she understands. Then hates himself more, for still wanting her to be the one who gives silent support, and lets him agonize and indulge his pained ego. Leia has every right not to be a ghost; every right to the peace of death, now. She drove herself without stint for sixty years; she has the right to peace, and rest.

The light is beginning to go. There’s no-one now to say “Come on, let’s go home”; no-one to tell him to fix what he’s done wrong, or to say they believe in him, or to hug him and be patient while he tries to restore his faith. No-one to give him back hope. She was always hope made flesh, and he doesn’t know what to do now without that bright strength. All through those years of self-imposed exile, he always believed his sister would still be there to help him when he finally felt ready to come back. Never thought that he would have to go on without her.

Not just him, but the whole Resistance. Everyone is reeling. And somehow they have to go on.

Luke thinks of the peace of his island, the restfulness of his years of meditation; the silence of the sea wind, the resonant precious energy of the stones and blades of grass, of the light in the crystalline air. Wants, more than he knows how to express, to be able simply to go back there, to forget, and be forgotten, again.

Looks at his sister’s gravestone, and knows he cannot do what he wants. Leia so seldom got what she wanted, and it didn’t stop her, didn’t even daunt her. Even when it wounded her unbearably it didn’t break her spirit. 

He had so little time to love her, his beautiful, rock-solid, honourable sister with the broken heart, the heart as wide as the Galaxy. 

He can only do, now, what he should have always done, and carry on the work she gave herself to.

He realises, with a self-disgusted lack of surprise, that it’s full dark now, and raining. He’s been standing here in full brooding mode for almost two hours. The awed guards haven’t dared to disturb him. He raises a hand to his face, and cannot tell where the rain starts and the tears end. 

He pulls up his wet hood into wetter hair, and turns to go.

Two figures are at the gate, waiting, with umbrellas; as soon as he starts to walk their way, a third one is put up and held out for him. He looks at his two apprentices, who have stood here silently all this time, but unlike him have had the common sense to stay dry. Sees the loving concern in their faces, which he does not deserve, and the respect, which he has no right to. But it’s the only chance he has, to make things right, and he must do what he can with what he has, and be as strong now for them as Leia has been for him and all the Galaxy, all her life.

“Thank you for waiting,” Luke says. “Come with me. We have work to do.”

Rey and Finn follow him out of the cemetery, away from the grave, into the future.

**Author's Note:**

> So evidently I need to make Luke suffer a bit more...  
> On a more serious note, this is actually how I would like to see the studio deal with Carie Fisher's tragic death, by incorporating it into their story; so Leia, who has been so steadfast for so many years, dies suddenly of heart failure, and the Resistance, and her friends and family, have to try and go on without her.  
> Of course I have no idea what they're planning to do, and obviously no idea of what the next episode holds, so I'm purposely pretty vague on that. But I do hope both Finn and Rey will become Jedi.  
> You can find me on tumblr as imsfire2...


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